Carriers
by Link121
Summary: Coach, Nick, Rochelle, and Ellis have finally made it out of New Orleans. Little do they know, they've just jumped out of one hell, straight into another.
1. Out of the frying pan

---Chapter One---

The four of them sat in the back of a helicopter, which was quickly zipping away from the burning remains of the bridge. After all they had been through, it felt good to finally be in the hands of the military. They could finally relax.

It was the oldest one of them that finally spoke. He was a large black man, seemingly in his mid-forties. The others had taken to calling him Coach, as that was his previous profession and what he liked to be called. In a deep, gruff voice, he exclaimed, "Thank you lord for delivering us to safety! Now almost all my prayers are answered!"

A younger woman in her late twenties by the name of Rochelle laughed. Like Coach, she was dark-skinned. She wore a bright pink Depeche Mode t-shirt, stained with blood, vomit, and other fluids. "Amen to that, Coach. What's your other wish?"

Before the man could speak, a different voice spoke up. "Let me guess; a cheeseburger?" He was wearing a once-white suit over a blue shirt. His brown hair, which might have been slicked back before the infected had come, was now in a tangled mess.

"You know what, Nick? You're right." Coach said, and the three of them chuckled. But the fourth figure didn't join in. He was sitting on the floor of the chopper, looking out towards the destroyed New Orleans slowly disappearing into the distance.

Rochelle noticed him, and was immediately worried. "Ellis, is something wrong? You don't seem yourself." Ellis turned and looked at her. He was the youngest of them all, with unkempt brown hair kept under a baseball cap. He wore a yellow Bull Riders shirt over a pair of his mechanic's pants.

"Yeah, I guess, Ro." He spoke with a southern accent. "I was just thinkin' about what we've been through and all… It's amazin' we even survived. You know?"

"I never knew you were such a deep thinker, Ellis." Nick joked. Coach ignored him. "Well, we did. And we did a damn good job of it!" He smiled reassuringly, and Ellis smiled back.

"Yeah, but I wonder what happened to those three guys back on the Bridge. I hope they're okay." Ellis said, looking back out the window. Nick scowled. "You're just thinking about that Zoey girl, huh? Well I wouldn't. She was _way _out of your league, anyway."

Rochelle lightly hit Nick's arm. "Nick, don't tease him! I'm sure they're all fine, Ellis. They had a pretty good position on that bridge. And remember, they said they were from up north. They must've been pretty damn good at surviving to make it down all this way."

Ellis considered this for a little bit. "Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Ro!" Rochelle smiled. At that moment, the pilot clicked on the intercom. "We're not too far from the base. ETA ten minutes."

"Thanks, mister!" Ellis replied as the intercom clicked back off. He laughed. "Man, this reminds me of the time me and my friend Keith went on a helicopter tour…"

The rest of the survivors groaned. This was going to be a long ten minutes.


	2. Into the Fire

---Chapter 2---

Watching from his office, Sergeant Jameson could see the helicopter fly in over the walls and land. This was the third carrier transport this week. The holding cells were getting full. They'd either have to move the carriers to another base or build new ones. As he thought, a voice came on over the radio.

"They've landed. What are our instructions, sir?" Jameson moved over to the radio and spoke into the microphone. "Make them think you're taking them to the non-immune camp. Ask them to give you their weapons, then lead them to the carrier cells. "Copy that, sir." the voice spoke over the radio. Jameson sat at his desk. He was going to hell for this, he was sure. But he had to do it.

He had to find a vaccine.

"We're here, survivors. Just give the men outside your weapons, and they'll escort you to your rooms." The pilot's voice told over the radio. Ellis immediately jumped to his feet. "Man, this is great! I can't wait to meet the other survivors!" he exclaimed. Coach laughed. "And I can't wait to meet the cafeteria. Dinner, here I come!" Rochelle stood up as eagerly as the others, but Nick scowled.

"What's wrong, Nick? Afraid they're gonna put you in jail for all of your crimes?" Rochelle teased. Nick, however stayed straight-faced. "No. There's just something wrong about all this. I mean, think about it. Remember all those non-infected bodies back in New Orleans?" Before anyone could reply, the door hatches opened.

Outside the helicopter stood what looked like soldiers, all of them with hazmat suits and armed with assault rifles. "All of you please put your weapons in this crate so we can escort you to your quarters. Everyone besides Nick did as they were told. Nick just suspiciously eyed the other soldiers.

"Please, sir, give us your weapons!" One of the soldiers raised his gun and pointed it towards him. Coach put his hand on Nick's shoulder. "Nick, just do what he says. You didn't come all this way just to be shot, did you?" Nick frowned at Coach for a minute, then reluctantly handed his rifle and magnum to the officer at the crate.

"Thank you, sir. Now, follow us to your quarters." They began walking in a line towards a structure with a rounded top, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. On the gate to the compound was a sign saying this: FACILITY 06. And below that was a larger sign marked CARRIERS.

Nick whispered to Coach, who stood in front of him. "I told you. There is _definitely _something wrong!" A soldier prodded him with the rifle. "Hey! Shut up and keep walking, or I'll shoot you!" Nick hurried on, but not before glaring at the man.

After they walked through the gate, it closed behind them. They were led into a bright white, sterile looking building. Solid-looking doors with small bullet-proof glass windows lined the narrow corridor. Ellis, who was at the end of the line, was stopped by three soldiers.

"Stop here, kid. This is your room." One of the soldiers said as he pointed his rifle at Ellis. "Alright, alright, man. I don't want no trouble." He said, a little fear in his normally carefree voice. The other survivors and tried to get through the guards. "This ain't right!" Coach yelled. "You're the military! You're supposed to be rescuing us, not putting us in a worse situation!"

"Move along, tubs. Unless you want to get shot in front of your buddies here." Coach had to keep going, but his face contorted into anger. "God damn it… After all we've been through, this…" They turned in time to see the door to Ellis' room close.

As they passed through the hallway, Rochelle looked into the rooms. A few were empty, but most had inhabitants. She could see some of them. They were mostly lying on the nondescript beds or on the smooth floors. Some stood leaning against the walls, looking out through the small windows. In one, she saw a man leaned up against a corner, with his head down. He wasn't moving. Rochelle tried to convince herself that he was only resting, but she had seen enough dead bodies in the last few days to know better.

One by one, they were split into separate rooms. Each one of them sat on their beds, wondering why the military was doing this to them. They knew the answer, even if they didn't want to.

They were carriers.


	3. Answers

---Chapter 3---

Ellis spent the next few hours lying on the hard cot, staring at the ceiling and walls. There was nothing here to look at or do in the small, barren room. Only a few hours earlier, a man in a hazmat suit, this one with only a pistol, had come in carrying a tray with some lumpy potatoes and a cold piece of chicken. He had left the room for a minute, closing the door behind him. When he came back, he carried a blank white t-shirt and matching pants, demanding that Ellis remove his own clothes and put the new ones on.

Ellis had done what the man had said. He tried to keep his cap, but the man demanded that it was also taken off. Ellis grimly removed it and dropped it into the box with the rest of his old clothes. The man took then took the box out of the room and slammed the door behind him without saying a word.

Now, several hours later, he heard the door open again. He sat up and looked who had come in. He wore a hazmat suit and carried a pistol with him, but it wasn't the same man. Through the hazmat suit's visor, he could see the man had gray hair and a moustache. His eyes were a dark gray, and met Ellis' without looking away. In his other hand, he held an empty syringe. Ellis looked up at the man, not saying anything.

"Hello. My name is Owen Hill. I'm a scientist. Now, if you would kindly lift up your sleeve, I have to collect some of your blood." Ellis continued to stare at Owen. After being betrayed by the military once, he wasn't ready to trust one of their scientists.

"Please, sir. I have to take your blood." he leaned in closer. "I'm sorry. I don't believe any of this is right, but we have to find a vaccine. And this is the only way Sergeant Jameson will do it."

Ellis looked at Owen. "If you don't think it's right, then let me and my friends out. We didn't hurt nobody. We'll leave the base." Owen frowned. "I can't do that. Now please, let me take your blood. I don't want to have to use force." He motioned his head towards the gun in his hand.

Ellis looked at it once, then pushed up his sleeve.

"God damn it!" Nick yelled, pounding on the door of his cell. He had known something was wrong about the military. Why hadn't the others listened to him? They shouldn't of gotten on that helicopter. All of that work just to become the army's little lab rat!

Earlier he had been forced out of his suit into the clothing he now wore. He had been semi-grateful; at least the clothes were unstained and didn't smell like sewage and decay.

He had given some trouble to the scientist that had taken his blood, but they finally got it after holding him down at gunpoint. What were they going to do with it, anyway? Find a miracle cure? He had a distinct feeling there wasn't going to be one. Maybe this was what those other survivors had meant when they said they had had enough of the military.

As he though, he heard the door open again. He turned to see another man in a hazmat suit stride in. He groaned. Another blood test? However, this man was not carrying a syringe. He was also accompanied by two other men, both with rifles.

"Good evening," the man started. He was from the north, Nick could tell by his accent. Nick only glared. "My name is Sergeant Jameson. I'm in command of the military presence at this base. May I ask you your name?"

"Bite me," Nick growled, bitter at the man who he knew was the cause of him being stuck in here. The Sergeant laughed. "I hope you understand, sir, that I'm the one in charge of the men with the two guns here. I've just come to explain your situation. Now please, tell me your name so we can have a conversation."

Nick glared, but decided to tell him. "Fine. My name's Nick. Now, tell me why the hell I'm stuck here." Jameson started, "I'm sorry for keeping you here, Nick, but I must. You see, I'm under orders by the government." Nick looked, waiting for a further explanation.

"As I've told the rest of your party, we're looking for a vaccine. We believe it is in the blood of the immune. However, there's a problem." Jameson frowned. "Every immune person we have come across also happens to be a carrier. They are still infected, and still spread the infection through their breath, but they don't have any symptoms or exhibit the behaviors of normal infected individuals. This means that they still have the disease in their blood."

Nick got up and paced to the opposite side of the room. "So you're telling me that all along, I've been a zombie?" Nick snorted at the idea. "I haven't eaten anyone lately, and I'm pretty sure all my friends haven't, either."

Jameson's face was straight, "No, you're not technically one of them. You're still infected, though. You're only asymptomatic. That's why we all have hazmat suits." the sergeant was silent for a moment. "Have you encountered any others who picked you up?"

Nick thought for a moment. "Yes, we have. There was the helicopter pilot, and Virgil. The helicopter pilot turned mid-flight, though. I had to shoot him."

"Did you ever wonder why he turned?" Jameson asked, his face solemn. "No, I never really had time, considering we were in a god damn zombie apocalypse." Nick retorted.

"You and your friends transmitted the disease to him." Jameson sadly replied. "Well, I hope you understand why we have to keep you here. It's for the best." The sergeant and his two men walked to the door. "Good night, Nick."

"Hey, asshole, I'm not done talking to you yet!" Nick yelled as the door closed and automatically locked. "Damn it!" Nick walked to his bed and lied down. His mind wandered. If Francis, Zoey, and Louis escaped from the military, then that meant Nick could.

He slept.


End file.
